"I can’t handle the silence."
Never have such words been so deafening to my ears.
Seated on the couch, this came out as we gently prodded our friend about coping mechanisms. Our conversation had budded from talk of suicide...
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writings for the empty cup
"I can’t handle the silence."
Never have such words been so deafening to my ears.
Seated on the couch, this came out as we gently prodded our friend about coping mechanisms. Our conversation had budded from talk of suicide...
Read moreJust a few days ago, I met with a mentor of mine, a woman who has known me since my first adult steps back in college. As I laid out a multitude of questions and choices flitting about me, she astutely inquired whether I’d checked in with my body in considering it all. Her suggestion was a simple one, yet resonated so profoundly within me. I’d become stuck in the chaos of my mind, thoughts darting...
Read morePinocchio. George Washington and the cherry tree. The boy who cried wolf. Many stories exist to tell of the perils of lying and the beautiful purity of truth. These tales tend to present Truth as a fairly simple duality—right over wrong, good conquering evil—but as we age, the complexities and conditional aspects of this realm make themselves...
Read moreOne of the first aspects of meditation I was introduced to is that it can be taken anywhere and practiced at any moment. But over my first few months of consistent practice, I developed an increasing aversion to finding new spaces in which to meditate. I had my ideal space at home dedicated to my practice, which felt like enough when I considered...
Read moreOut of all of the ways my seat has shaped and continues to shape me, I have sensed its ripples most through gratitude, mindfulness, and lightness.
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